


take my hand (it's as easy as)

by kanames_harisen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: dhr_advent, F/M, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Holidays, Mild Language, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Not Pottermore Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-01 16:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8630932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanames_harisen/pseuds/kanames_harisen
Summary: “And if all else fails... listen well now, Granger, this is the important part." Draco took her chin in his hands, forcing her to look him directly in the eyes. "I remember that tomorrow is a new day and pray to Merlin that it will be a better one."





	1. hana

**Author's Note:**

> I am honored to participate in this fest - a huge thank you to whoever nominated me! This story, and its title, were inspired the BTS song, _Two! Three! (Hoping for More Good Days)_. I’m not sure if anyone reading this is a K-pop fan, but the lyrics are beautiful and the song is definitely worth a listen.
> 
> The prompt for this piece is _shopping_.
> 
> Also, thank you so, so much to my lovely, hard-working beta, **Naeryna**! I appreciate everything that you do for me! I have made changes after the last time she saw it, so any remaining mistakes are mine.

**.**

**.**

**{** **one** **}**

"All right, _Nick_ , I hope you have what I need."

It was a terrible day to be traipsing about London - gales of wind coupled with heavy snowfall had brought all forms of transportation in the busy city to a near halt. There were a few brave souls out on the streets though, people who had ventured out on foot like Hermione, swaddled from head to toe in cold weather gear.

A small bell chimed as Hermione rushed into a quaint bookshop, eager to get out of the inclement weather. With a quick smile in response to the clerk's cheery greeting, she brushed the lingering snow from her hair and coat, and tried to breathe some warmth back into the tip of her nose.

 _Oh, what a difference a day makes_ , Hermione thought dryly as she slowly unwrapped her scarf.

December was ushered in by a gentle turn of the season; the winter days were mild and pleasant in spite of the cold temperatures.

Or at least it had been until this morning.

The view she'd woken up to see outside her bedroom window that morning was nothing short of awe-inspiring. The storm, which at first seemed at least several kilometres away, swiftly engulfed everything within sight within the space of a minute. Watching the scene unfold, Hermione was suddenly thankful for the well-maintained heating system in her flat.

Hermione had just finished breakfast when she heard the tell-tale tap of Rose's owl. Reading her daughter's missive, she groaned. She nearly replied to Rose refusing to her request. With the abrupt turn in the weather, Hermione was sure Rose would understand. But then she considered how she'd be spending her day off otherwise – shut inside her lonely flat with not even a new book to keep her company – and decided that facing the storm was preferable.

Of course, that was before Hermione realised Rose had sent her on a wild goose chase. She'd already visited eleven bookshops with no luck. It was ridiculous, really. She was after a popular children's book that was still in print, and not some ancient, first edition tome. And yet the book, which she was beginning to believe was the rarest book in all of Great Britain, was nowhere to be found. Ordering the book online with Christmas fast approaching was not an option. Hermione really hoped that _Nick's Knick-Knacks & Written Treasures_ would be lucky number twelve. The thought of trudging through the snow to visit the remaining half dozen shops on her list was enough to make her cry.

The shop's bell rang out again, signalling the arrival of another brave book lover, as Hermione wove through the bookshelves towards the fiction section. Once there, she realised her mistake; she needed to find children's fiction rather than general fiction. She sighed, massaging her temples to ease the beginnings of a headache.

Hermione picked her way to the children's section, and mercifully, the book she was after was there, sitting happily upon a prominent display! She felt her exhaustion slip away as she strode forward to grab the elusive book. To her surprise, she encountered firm resistance when she tried to take it off the shelf. She tugged harder, careful not to damage the cover or bend the spine. With a frustrated growl, she addressed the interloper.

"Excuse me, sir. I had this first, so I would appreciate it if you would–" Hermione sputtered, startled by the handsome face of her rival. "Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

"I would think it was obvious, Granger." Draco rolled his eyes. "We are in a bookstore and therefore I, Draco Malfoy, am here to buy a book." Then he tilted his head towards the object between them. "Now if you don't mind, kindly unhand my book."

Hermione raised her chin in defiance. "Not a chance."

"I'm sure there are plenty of other books here to fulfill your bookworm fantasies," Draco drawled as he tugged it his direction. "Why don't you go find another? Or for that matter, a dozen others. This book is important to me."

Hermione pulled it back. "Well, it's important to me, too."

"I thought we were friends." He leaned forward, clucking his tongue near her ear. "Is this really how you treat your friends?"

"You are getting ahead of yourself, Malfoy." She took a step back and to the side, trying to tip him off balance. "Calling us 'friends' is a bit of an exaggeration, isn't it?"

"Oh, don't go denying it now," Draco said with a wink, foiling her attempt with his quick reflexes. "We regularly hold civil conversations and we haven't tried to hex each other to oblivion in over twenty years. If that's not friendship, I don't know what is."

Hermione yanked the book again, and she all achieved for the effort was for most of her hair to fall out of its tie. She tried to blow the loose strands out of her face, to no avail. "All the same, you're not getting this book."

"Has anyone ever told you you're quite pretty when you're flustered?"

Hermione chuckled, enjoying the exchange far more than she'd like to admit. "Flattery won't get you anywhere, Malfoy. Just give up. You'd be wise to not get between a woman and her book."

The wry smirk he'd been wearing since they'd ran into each other faltered for a moment; something close to anguish had marred his features. She would have missed it completely if she hadn't been watching him. "Come now, Hermione, be reasonable. _Please_."

Hermione hesitated, her heart constricting uncomfortably. This wasn't how the game was supposed to go. There was supposed to be banter, mild insults, and, on the rare occasion, some innocent flirting. But Draco was deviating from their established pattern.

Her grip on the book went slack. To Draco's credit, he didn't immediately take it from her, and that fact increased the squeezing feeling in her chest. Merlin, sometimes she hated her conscience. Hermione asked quietly, "Tell me why."

"What?"

"You heard me," Hermione said with a huff. "Why do you want this book? If your reason is better than mine, I'll give it up."

Draco crossed his arms against his chest. "And if I don't want to tell you?"

"I know several non-verbal hexes which would be appropriate for the situation. Don't make me test your friendship theory."

Draco smirked. "You wouldn't."

"You sure?" she asked, doing her best to maintain a tough countenance. She felt unexpectedly relieved when his expression changed from distress back to amusement. Damn Draco Malfoy for being so unfairly attractive. And damn her for noticing it at such an inopportune moment. Hermione reasserted her grip on the book. "I told you this book is important to me."

Draco sighed, letting the air leave his chest slow and measured, and his whole demeanour changed, suddenly soft and vulnerable. He sized Hermione up, his gaze lingering as he carefully searched her face for something. A full minute passed before he spoke, the tenor of his voice low and hushed.

"It's for Scorpius." He paused for a beat, gauging her reaction. When Hermione gave no indication that she was letting go, he frowned and continued, "Astoria loved Muggle stories."

"Yes, she did," Hermione said with a sad smile. One of her hands fell away from the book to curl around the note in her coat pocket. "I had forgotten about that."

"Oh… Right." Draco rubbed his thumb across his forehead, looking away. "You were a part of that book club she attended."

"What does Astoria have to do with this book?"

Draco drew in another deep breath before he answered. "She'd been reading this series to Scorpius when she fell ill." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "She'd hoped to finish them all before… before she passed. Time just wasn't on her side, I guess. She only made it to the second chapter."

Hermione pushed the book fully into his hands and let go. "You can't find her copy, can you?"

Draco swallowed hard as he tucked the book under his arm. "How did you know?"

"I didn't, not until just now. But Rose must have."

Hermione pulled the crumpled note out of her pocket, smoothing out the parchment before reading it aloud.

_"Mum, I'm sorry to ask you at the last minute, but I need you to work some of your bookworm magic. I don't have time to go into detail or I'll be late for Potions, but receiving this Christmas gift would mean everything to one of my classmates. I already tried the shops in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, but their Muggle selections are sorely lacking. Could you please find it and get it to me before we break for holiday?_

_I love you, Rose_

_P.S. – I just realised I forgot to tell you what it was. We both know I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached firmly to my body. Anyway, I need a hardcover copy of Prince Caspian by C. S. Lewis, and not one of those cheap looking ones printed after the movies please. Thank you, Mum. You're the best!"_

When she finished her recitation, Hermione handed the letter to Draco and turned away, giving him time to collect himself; she hadn't missed the way he misted up when she mentioned the name of the book. For the lack of anything better to do, she sat down in a nearby chair. It was a tight squeeze, considering it was designed with a child's frame in mind, but she managed.

"Your Rose is a sweet girl. Scorpius is lucky to have a friend like her," Draco said as he pulled a bean bag next to her chair and plopped down on it. After a few seconds of comfortable silence, Draco's eyebrows furrowed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just…" Draco sat the book in his lap, tracing the golden filigree on the spine with his finger. Then he gave it a soft rap on its cover and held the book out to Hermione. "Here."

Hermione ignored the book and instead leaned forward in her chair to press the back of her hand to his forehead.

"Granger, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm checking to see if you're ill," she said with mock seriousness. "No fever, though, so you must just be daft."

Draco raised an imperious brow. "Daft?"

"You'd have to be if you think that gift would be more meaningful to Scorpius coming from Rose than you."

Draco hesitated, the book still held outwards. "But won't Rose be disappointed?"

"Of course not. She'll be happy for you both. I'll shop for another gift tomorrow." Hermione patted Draco's shoulder as she stood up to leave. "I'll see you around, I'm sure. Wish Scorpius a Happy Christmas for me, won't you?"

"I will... Hermione?"

She stopped at the end of the aisle, shelves full of brightly coloured books and bean bags and child-sized tables between her and him, and turned back. "Yeah?"

"Have dinner with me."

"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't. I'm a married wo–" Hermione stopped mid-sentence, her eyes wide with the shock of what she'd almost said. Draco looked as startled by her response as she felt and that made her blunder all the more painful. Her thumb rubbed the underside of her finger, running over the still evident ridges left behind from her absent wedding ring. Choking down her mortification, she gave Draco a sharp nod of dismissal. "Goodbye, Malfoy."

Hermione dashed out of the shop without looking back.

 

 

( _I’m not married anymore_.)


	2. dul

**.**

**.**

**{** **two** **}**

"If you're shopping for Scorpius, you'd be better off at Flourish and Blotts."

Hermione started. "Are you stalking me, Malfoy?"

She kept her gaze carefully trained on her Christmas shopping list and turned down the next aisle, trying to appear unaffected by his presence. After yesterday she'd hoped to avoid him for the foreseeable future. With time she was sure her mind would shove him back into the box in which he belonged – _reformed childhood bully, parent of Rose's best friend, and occasionally appreciated conversationalist_ – rather than pondering over the possibilities that came along with his casual invitation.

"Do you truly think I'm capable of such a terrible thing?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at his faux injured tone. "Yes."

It should have been easy to manage, really. Their social circles rarely overlapped, which meant that months often passed without her seeing more than a glimpse of his blond head in a crowd. But here Draco was, following her around the new Quidditch shop – which she specifically went to because she knew he preferred the more established _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ – with a familiarity which set all her senses on high alert. The juniper undertones of his cologne, the brush of his shoulder against hers as they navigated the busy shop, the warmth from his breath on her nape…

"I suppose I'll have to confess then," he said, interrupting her reverie as he reached around her to grab a container of broom wax off the shelf.

His sly manoeuvre gave Hermione no choice but to face Draco and his pleased smirk set her cheeks flushing. Her huff of frustration was only half-feigned as she crossed her arms and did her best to continue her nonchalant act. "Confess?"

"Yep." Draco tossed the wax in the air, catching it one-handed behind his back. Then he leaned forward, whispering into her ear. "I cast a tracking spell on your coat."

"Draco Malfoy!" Hermione punctuated her exclamation with a sharp smack to his shoulder. Several people turned to stare and the pink in her cheeks blazed a fiery red. After smoothing her ruffled hair and emotions, she lowered her voice. "Why would you do that?"

"I wanted to see you again." He rubbed his sore arm, pouting. "That really hurt, you know."

"Good."

Dropping her list, Hermione stomped towards the store's exit. She could hear Draco calling her name, but she didn't wait for him to catch up. Once she was outside, she ran across the street, hoping to hide in the dense, holiday crowds as she made her way back to London. She wasn't even sure why she ran, since she wasn't actually angry with Draco.

But she didn't stop.

And she didn't look back.

**.oOo.**

_I'm not ready_ , she thought as she wandered through the snow-covered city. _It's only been–_

Hermione stopped, the last vestiges of sunset rolling away to make room for the clear, cold dusk. The bridge where she stood overlooked a park surrounded by a community of red brick homes and she watched, rooted to the spot, as each house flicked their holiday lights on one by one. The small valley filled with a warm, cheery glow, and Hermione never felt so lonely in all her life. Unconsciously, her fingers moved to her left hand, trying in vain to adjust a piece jewellery which had been gone for quite some time. When she realised, Hermione dropped her hands and shook her head. She'd caught herself doing that more often than she'd like lately.

"It's already been a year," Hermione whispered as hot tears spilled down her chilled skin. "I should be over it by now."

"Doesn't matter." Draco approached cautiously from the other side of the bridge, hands raised as if he were dealing with a wild animal. One hand held a lined piece of paper. "I didn't mean to startle you, it's just you dropped this back at the shop and I thought you might need it."

"How'd you–?"

"Tracking spell, remember?" Draco stopped a couple steps away and held out her list. When she took it, he turned towards the brightly lit houses, resting his elbows on the bridge's railing. When Draco spoke again, he was subdued, no trace of the shameless flirt she'd encountered over the past couple of days. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Hermione tucked the paper into the back pocket of her denims. Then, after a minute of consideration, she joined him at the railing. "I suppose."

"Painful as well, yeah?" Draco gestured towards a couple of kids rushing to put the finishing touches on a snowman as their parents called them inside for dinner. "A reminder of how it's meant to be. Happy families, holiday cheer, and all that rubbish." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the blond strands, and dropped his chin onto his palm. "It's what we're missing."

"Does it get any better?"

"Yes." Draco shifted towards Hermione, nudging her arm with his elbow to get her attention. "I'm not going to lie to you. Some days are still hard, even after all this time. But on the whole? Yeah, it gets better."

Her breath caught in her throat. "How?"

"You haven't figured it out yet, not even with this big brain of yours?" Draco chuckled and gently tapped her temple. "I'm disappointed, Granger."

"Malfoy."

Hermione frowned, but they both knew it was all for show. This time his flirting served the purpose of lightening the heavy mood, and she found herself grateful for it.

"Straight to the point then."

"Yes, please," she replied primly.

"I do what any wizard would do," said Draco with a shrug. "I cast a spell."

"A spell?"

Draco nodded, lifting his head so the winter breeze blew fully through his hair, and closed his eyes. "Whenever things get too hard, I count – one, two, three." He raised his fingers, one after another after another, as he said the words again. "One, two, three. Slowly. Deliberately. With conviction, you understand. It has to have conviction. And then," he said, leaning in as if he were imparting a most precious secret, "I choose to forget."

"But _how_?" Fresh tears gathered in her lashes as her frustration grew. "That's what I don't understand. All I _can_ do is remember."

"That's the easiest part. I think about the good things still in my life – Scorpius, my parents, the fact that Mipsy always knows exactly how I take my hot chocolate, in spite of her failing memory. And if all else fails... listen well now, Granger, this is the important part." Draco took her chin in his hands, forcing her to look him directly in the eyes. "I remember that tomorrow is a new day and pray to Merlin that it will be a better one."

"If you really believe that, then why do you still wear this?" Hermione placed her hand over Draco's and ran a finger over his gold band. "It's been three years, Draco."

The clip-clop of horse hooves on the bridge brought a sudden bout of self-consciousness to Hermione, and she stepped backwards out of Draco's grasp, wiping away the moisture from her eyes with her coat sleeve. A shiny red sleigh stopped in front of them, its bells jingling merrily. The driver, a rotund middle-aged man, hailed them with a wave and a smile.

"Hullo, sir. The name's Kristopher. Would you and the missus like a ride?" He pointed to the seat. "It's quite cosy, I assure you, and warm besides. I keep it well stocked in blankets and cocoa."

"What do you say, Granger?" Draco held his hand out for her. "Would you like to go on a ride with me?"

Hermione looked at the scene with longing and shook her head. "No." Shoving her hands deep into her own pockets, she sighed and watched the frozen puff of air rise and dissipate in the night sky. "One day, maybe. But not today."

Hermione walked away, her thoughts tripping over the implications of the gold on his hand, the empty space on her own, and persistent feeling of regret lodged deep in her chest.

 

 

 

( _He’s not married anymore either._ )


	3. cet

**.**

**.**

**{** **three** **}**

"Mum!" Rose called from the other end of the flat, a frantic edge in her voice. "I can't find Uncle Charlie's present! Have you seen it?"

"It's on the kitchen table, sweetheart." Hermione handed Hugo the bag containing the rest of the gifts, and the two shared a knowing look. "Exactly where you left it."

Rose rushed through the living room, a whirlwind of red and green and gold, as she made her way to the kitchen. She let out a triumphant whoop when she found it, sending Hugo into a fit of laughter at his sister's expense. Rose, unbothered by his mirth, added the present to his bag with all the flourish of a queen bestowing favour upon a lowly knight.

"All right, you two. Bundle up tight." Hermione handed each of them their outerwear. "I know the Apparition point isn't far, but the winds are strong tonight."

"Won't you come with us, Mum?" Rose asked as she wrapped the thick scarf around her neck. "Everyone at the Burrow still cares about you, you know. They all want to see you. And Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny will be there. Even Dad said–"

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me." Hermione ran her thumbs over the concerned wrinkles on her daughter's forehead. "Go have fun with your father. He's been looking forward to spending the holiday with you."

"But Mum–"

"Stop fussing, Rose. Mum's a big girl. She can take care of herself, yeah?" Hugo pushed his sister towards the door, winking at Hermione over his shoulder. "Besides, Dad's already waiting for us. Wouldn't want him to catch a cold out in that weather, would you?"

"Fine." Rose shot her brother a reproving glare as she stepped outside. "But promise you'll do something more festive than lying about in your pyjamas with a book and that crotchety old cat. Please, Mum?"

Hermione waved the teens out the door with a shooing motion. "Yes, yes. I promise. Now get going."

Hugo bent down and pulled Hermione into tight, warm hug. When he let go, he wagged his finger at her, a roguish grin tugging at his lips. "Remember, Mum, you promised."

**.oOo.**

Hermione tried.

After the kids left, she plugged in the multitude of lights Rose had strung around the house and turned on the radio, filling the small flat with melodies of reindeer and elves and snow. A particularly bouncy tune came on and, feeling inspired, Hermione danced her way to her bedroom to change into something more suiting to the holiday. Rose had been right about one thing at least: lounging in one's oldest, rattiest pyjamas was no way to spend Christmas Eve. A half hour later, Hermione stood in front of her ornament-laden tree in a red sweater dress, hair and makeup done, thoroughly pleased with herself.

The feeling only lasted about two minutes before realisation came and smacked her in the face.

Everyone she knew was either at the Burrow or had plans with their own families. She couldn't even visit her parents as they were out of country, volunteering their services to a children's charity programme.

She was, it seemed, destined to be alone.

And if she had to be alone, Hermione preferred to be alone in the comfort of her own home. She had no inclination or desire to go out and be amidst all the holiday cheer she knew she'd find in the city, not without someone by her side. Her heart wasn't ready for it.

So she called a nearby restaurant for take-out, rummaged through her bookshelves for her worn copy of _A Christmas Carol_ , and settled in on the sofa with a fleece throw, thankful that her outfit was comfortable enough that she didn't need to change back into pyjamas. Soon Crookshanks the Third came out of his hiding place to curl up at her feet, and with that the scenario which Rose feared became complete. The kids would be so disappointed when they came home, she knew.

Truly, though, she did try.

When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, it was a relief. Besides being hungry, Hermione was restless and fidgety. Unsettled. She'd only read a paragraph of the story before her mind began wander, chasing down images of snowstorms and rare books, of bridges and wedding bands. Of a handsome man whom she wasn't sure she wanted to think about. Moving around, even just to answer the door, would clear her head of those distractions. She was sure of it.

Striding to the door, she opened it with aplomb, trying to affect the air of one who was eating alone on Christmas Eve by choice rather than default. The sight that greeted her had her dropping all pretense.

"Hello, Granger."

"M-Malfoy?" Hermione sputtered, completely taken aback by the unexpected visitor. The shock only lasted a moment, though; his pleased smirk snapped her back to reality. With a wary look, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Draco frowned. "You've asked me that a lot lately."

Lifting her chin, she put her hands on her hips. "And you've avoided answering my questions a lot lately."

"Touché," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm not here to bother you. I just thought…" Draco carded his gloved hands roughly through his hair and paced out a shallow half circle on her front stoop. "This is harder than I thought with you looking so–"

Hermione prickled immediately and shifted her stance, wedging her open door partially between them. "Looking so what, exactly?"

"Damn, bloody beautiful, that's what."

"Oh." Her breath stilled at the intensity of his quickly given answer. Paired with the sincerity of his expression, it went a long way towards softening her guarded attitude. "Why are you here, really?"

"I didn't plan to be." Draco released a breathy, self-deprecating chuckle, and ran a hand over his face. "Scorpius always goes to Greengrass Manor for Christmas Eve, so I normally spend the evening in my study, going over the company's quarterly reports. But I received an owl this morning that made me rethink my routine. Damn crazy bird almost killed itself flying into the window pane."

Hermione shook her head as she let out a huff of wry disbelief. "That little sneak."

"So I was correct in assuming it was one of your owls?"

"It was Hugo's owl, Cringle. I'm sure of it. I've never met a bird as dumb as that one." Hermione smiled ruefully. "Well, go on. I have to hear the rest of the story now. What did my sweet, yet meddling son have to say?"

"Oh, nothing much." At her incredulous look, Draco placed his hands over his heart. "Honestly! The message simply said that if I could bring it upon myself to ask you nicely, you might be persuaded to have dinner with me tonight."

She threw her hands in the air, walking inside. "This is a conspiracy."

"Yes," he said as he followed her through the open door, closing it behind him. "But is it working?"

Hermione stopped in front of the Christmas tree and turned on her heel to face him. Her sudden about-face startled him, causing him to take a step back, but then he straightened his posture and held his ground, waiting. Looking at him now – his expression filled with hope and hesitation and vulnerability – she realised exactly how much she wanted this, the possibility of sharing a future with someone again. Without even noticing, she'd moved past the pain and baggage of the past.

Only one thing was holding her back now.

"Let me see your hands."

If Draco was surprised at all by her request, he didn't show it. He pulled off his right glove, dropping it on the arm of the sofa. Then he slowly removed the left, raising his hand so she could clearly see it.

"This past week, I thought about what you asked, and I think I have answer." Draco took a step towards her. "I wore it because I was afraid to be alone. Because when I wore it, her memory was as present as if Astoria were still with me."

He took another step.

"I loved my wife, Hermione. With all my heart. But she's gone, and I'm still here. And I'm so tired of holding on to ghosts and simply going through the motions of living. It took you walking away from me on that bridge to realise that. But I'm hoping that you can see past all that. Or that you can give me a chance in spite of it. That maybe... well, I guess I'm hoping today might be my better day."

With his next step forward, he held out his hand. "Come to dinner with me."

Hermione looked at his outstretched hand, covered in ink stains and callouses and thin, pale scars. The place where his ring used to be still bore its shape, and it would be a long time before it faded completely. But it didn't matter anymore; it was the same as her own.

So she crossed what was left of the distance between them, her gaze never leaving his, counted aloud – _one, two, three_ – and took his hand.

 

 

( _And we’re still hoping for better days_.)


End file.
